There are small yellow petals stuck to the metal inside my sink wet soft feel like your eyelids. They spilled from my hair early in two past mornings when I teetered inside pulled the bobby pins loose and that tiny flower (a miniature sunflower impromptu impressionism) fell apart.

I forgot that the girl who had lent me her hoody wouldn't stand up told me she was a 24-year-old virgin had tucked it there between red curls twists apple hair spray and silver glitters and when it landed in a pool mixed with old yogurt I was too tired to move it.

Been there for about two days now.

And when I saw those petals again this morning (reminding me to wash the spoons bowls water jug) I thought about the way you would have cleaned it up already. Wrapped it in paper towel thrown it away and told me to be more careful. But late nights long sits in front of computer stores too many glasses guesses at names makes you wobbly and not at all interested in pealing petals from sinks (and you're not here anyway).

So there they stayed.

Until tonight after my trip work rice broccoli that I bought from a woman named Susie who gave me extra plum sauce because she said she liked my eyes.

And now I wonder what you would paint with them.

How I'd like them pasted on my nipples belly button bottoms of feet on the undersides of my wrists soft warm like candle wax on fingertips making my skin smell fuzzy like cut grass. Making you swirl designs all over a living canvass medium for you making them stick with your tongue jasmine oil the heat of my skin.

Like the time with the pink purple red white petals on your bed. Those stuck to my back legs hips ankles without trying at all. My own botanical blanket cool against the back of my neck the way you just sat and watched (me paint) in glows from green white candles the kinds with three wicks that burn down the center and aren't the deal you thought they were burning too fast onto into the carpet my turtleneck hard like rubber silly putty after it cools. Now you use to wax curbs and I don't burn at all (light is perpetual here).

How when I peal these sticky petals from the sink's sides they curl like cellophane fortune telling fish you hold in your palm buy in wicker bowls for 39 cents from import stores in china town.

What's my future?

Then piled on the counter (saved from the drain plastic bag overgrown front lawn) because I can't throw them out as easily. As you.

Sarah Glen makes it hard to take a day off.